


home

by ravenclawremus (nopressure)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Post-Azkaban, mentions of james and harry, pre-OotP, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-24 00:26:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12001089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nopressure/pseuds/ravenclawremus
Summary: "and that night, for the first time in my life, I felt like my house was finally a home."





	home

_**HE’S**_ _**MADE UP OF SOFT BROWN EYES**_ , tired 2am voices, torn sweaters, black coffee, old books and pretty music. I’m made up of cigarette burns, fading tattoos, too many bad memories, beer and recklessness. There’s love inside the both of us, too. It’s worn out and compressed and so, so deep down, but it’s there — hidden underneath years of pain and tears and experiences we wish we could forget.

These experiences come out at night time. They come up from the deepest, darkest corners of our brains to haunt us in the A.M. He’s better at dealing with them. I think it’s because he didn't have to see the dementors. I did, though. Cold, dark, slipping, drowning... I can't recall how many times I had to feel their presence — and all alone, too. I still have to feel it, so many years later. But I’m not alone anymore.

I’m out of bed before I can even realize it. The floor is cold against my feet. It reminds me of the house we’re in, of my childhood, and before I know it I’m shivering. Grimmauld Place has always had this effect on me, but tonight it’s stronger. I walk faster towards his room. I could make it from my room to his in my sleep. I’ve had to make it in far worse states.

I don't knock. I haven't for months. I just walk right in, and I know without looking that he’s still awake. He always is. That’s why his eyes are so tired, but still so gentle, so welcoming. It’s one thing (out of the thousands) that I love about him.

I climb into bed with him. He doesn't make any sign of noticing that I’m even in the room with him until he feels my weight pull the mattress down. He moves over, leaving a space for me.

“Sirius,” He murmurs.

“Remus,” I return. It's cold in his room, but not nearly as cold as mine. I don't know if it’s because of his body heat or because of the fire that automatically springs up in my chest around him.

“Nightmares?” He asks. His voice is the same soft, welcoming tone I’m used to, but his eyes are blank and numb. He gets like this most of the time, and it’s my job to bring him back to earth. Remus and I are different in that way, among many. I feel too much. He feels nothing at all.

“Always,” I smile. It’s weak. I’m weak, and he knows it. He wraps one arm around me, and I put my head against his chest.

After that, he doesn’t say much. I can't tell what he’s thinking, and it breaks my heart. He never tells me what’s going on inside his head. I never know how much he’s hurting. He’s so scared of being a burden. I wish I could get it through his head that I would love for him to be.

“Remus,” I say, after a moment's hesitation. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Please.”

He looks down at me for a long time. For a second or two I think he’s not going to say anything at all. And then he sighs, looks away again, and says quietly, “How did we end up like this?”

I don't have an answer to that, so I don’t say anything at all for awhile. It’s dark, the only source of light being the moon through the window. I reach for his hand and tangle our fingers together. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and I know he must be wondering what I’m doing, why I’m doing it. I can feel him breathing against me. I hope in the back of my mind that he can't feel my breathing, that he doesn't realize it gets faster when he grips my hand just a little bit tighter than usual. It takes longer for me to speak again. “I know exactly how we ended up like this, and you do too. We both know how. What I don’t know is why. Why we, of all people, had this fate. I couldn't tell you that. But I- I do know one thing.”

“And what’s that?” He asks. He’s numb and sad and sounds nothing like he usually does when he asks a question. The curiosity isn't there — his usual thirst for knowledge is gone. Years ago I would often wonder why he got put into Gryffindor when Ravenclaw practically screamed his name. Later on in life, I found out the answer to that question. He’s the bravest man I know. I think I preferred the times when I was left to wonder.

“That dwelling on the past will do us no good. We can't change it, Remus, no matter how hard we try. And I think we both know that James wouldn’t want you to live like this. He wouldn't want to see one of his best friends do this to themselves. I know what you’re so worried about. I know that it’s Harry. But you must have faith. Faith that, just because they are so, so similar, Harry’s story will not end like James’. Harry is brilliant beyond belief. He is braver than you, I, and James ever were, combined. And he’s got his own Remus and Sirius with him too, if I’d dare say so. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley will not let him fall… and neither will you and I. James trusted us with him… and now… now it’s time to prove that he didn't make a mistake. There are two people that I will defend until my last breath. One is right here, and the other is safe in Hogwarts.”

His eyebrows furrow together, and quite suddenly, he’s looking at me different than before. Before I can even process what’s happening, I feel his lips brush against my forehead. In the back of my mind I can see everything replay — I’m back at Hogwarts again, with James and Peter laughing in the background, feeling the air from the lake drift up onto the hill, all happy faces full of youth who didn't know what was coming to them. The lines blur for a moment, like everything’s crossing over, and I think about Harry and the horrors he might have to face, just like we did.

I squeeze Remus’ hand. He kisses my forehead again. My breath shakes as I look up at him. “I know everything has changed, but I haven't, not really. I’m still Sirius. Please… _please_ remember that.”

  
The next morning, I wake up next to him. He doesn’t get up in the middle of the night and move to the couch, for once. Our hands are still laced together. When I blink my eyes open, he’s already awake. I think, for a moment, he’s going to go numb on me again — turn into night time Remus. But he doesn't. He gets out of bed, pulls on a sweater, and takes my hand. We eat breakfast together, and I see him laugh again, like he used to. My heart feels warm and I can’t seem to remember what the coldness of the dementors felt like to begin with.

That night, he’s the one who comes to my room. He opens the door before thoughts about Azkaban and James and Harry and _what if I just ended it all before it gets worse?_ can even cross my mind.

“Come on,” He murmurs. “I know you hate this room. You should sleep in mine, from now on.” I see a smile ghost his lips.

Mine, however, is a grin. The widest I’ve had in a long, long time. He laughs at this, and the real kind, too. Suddenly his eyes look even warmer than usual, and he doesn't seem as tired.

I follow him into his room, and that night, for the first time in my life, I felt like my house was finally a home.


End file.
